


Feet

by OakwoodOuroboros



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Autism, Gen, Insecurity, Introspection, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 06:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18255458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OakwoodOuroboros/pseuds/OakwoodOuroboros
Summary: Life after Medusa's death is difficult in a way that wasn't necessarily anticipated by the demon sword.





	Feet

**Author's Note:**

> For MakenshiCrona on FF dot net

Crona had big feet. It was never something that they had ever been particularly self-conscious of, until this day, anyhow. It hadn’t been a particularly traumatising incident in and of itself, just Patty pointing out something about their anatomy. On closer inspection, it was true: their shoe size was nearly the same as Spirit’s.

Then they started tripping over their shoes. It seemed like simply mentioning the encumbrance was enough to make it yet another factor entering the puzzling mystery of their coordination; in short, they were clumsy. Chairs, tables, doors, anything that could be run into, they did. They gradually became more and more aware of the awkwardness of their being. It was difficult to come to term with: stringy, lanky, _stupid_ \- no, that was Ragnarok speaking. The icky, gooey being was their blood after all, of course he was in their brain. He was everywhere. Weighing them down, pulling their body meant for flying down to the rocky, unyielding desert floor…

But right now, it was their feet that was annoying them. Everywhere they went, they saw feet anyhow; with their head lowered, what else would they be able to see? Trash, small lost treasures for sure, but mainly it was feet, their own as well as others.

They started to hate their shiny black boots, the noise they made, the way they felt. They would have mentioned it to Maka, were it not something that seemed so _trivial_. Their mental health was a priority above all other, as she had said some time in the early days of their friendship, and as much as they whole-heartedly wanted to agree, they simply kept thinking about their feet.

Trainers seemed to be a good solution to this problem, but Crona being as they were, they just felt _wrong._ A lot of things felt this way, and Liz had explained to them that it was simply because they had spent so much time in the clothes they had worn for as long as they had known. The robes were enchanted, flexible, unable to be worn down, and their boots were shiny, perfectly moulded to their feet. Wearing anything that wasn’t tailor-made was a challenge, and of course Kid was there to help solve that problem, but shoes still took time to be made, and handmade trainers were not a thing that had yet come to the small Nevada town that they now inhabited.

Of course, Maka did notice that something was off about the Demon Blade. Well, more off than usual, per se. Everything was so new and the concept of _freedom_ in and of itself was a horizon that was always too blinding to stare at. Following was easier. Following was something that Crona was used to, had been doing their whole life. Following their mother, Free, Eruka, Ragnarok… and now Maka. So just as they had done with every single other person in their life, they said nothing of what was bothering them in the instant that they were being addressed.

“What do you mean ‘I’m fine’?” she had scolded, although her tone of voice went unnoticed to the pink-haired Meister.

“Well… I’m fine. My discomfort isn’t something that should be of importance to you.”

She sat down on her bed, sighing and pinching her brow. “You’re not going to tell me, aren’t you?”

The silence was the only answer that was needed.

It had nearly been a year since Medusa had died, and slowly but surely, Crona was becoming better at controlling themself and at letting loose at the same time. Letting loose their feelings, their opinion, trying to control Ragnarok and the darkness inside them. Stein had been of a great help; although reluctant and in sorts angry at the cursed blade to have hurt him and Marie in such a way, he had still understood the need to calm Ragnarok to allow the Meister some peace. Up until the last second the black blood struggled, screaming insults and promising revenge, until for the first time in years, the pink-haired Meister was spared from the constant prodding, hissing voice. They had expected to feel lonely at first, but surprisingly that had not been the case. Ragnarok’s semi-dormancy was the most fulfilling feeling that they had ever felt within their entire life, and with that came the beginning of their healing.

As Maka’s annoyance had implicitly pointed out, there was still work to be done on most fronts, medical issues to be resolved, mental health to be improved. Crona’s autism had successfully been diagnosed and their schooling had been adapted, which helped them become the brilliant student that they now were, but they still had problems when it came to being proud of their work. Not only that, but they couldn’t summon Ragnarok anymore, and instead had to be paired with other students as a Meister-Weapon team. Neurodivergence and the lingering presence of a somnolent Ragnarok, paired with the black blood, made them a difficult person to match up with.

Hatred spewed from the mouths of the victims they had made during the war, despite all the efforts that the school had put in place to protect the Demon Blade. This didn’t really affect Crona, even when they spat in their face and called them slurs that enraged every single one of their friends, no, all it did was remind them of how large their feet were.

It was irritating. It was enraging. They had managed to make it through so many things, had been through the hell of absolute insanity and back, now had the love and affection they had always craved, and yet…

Surprisingly, the first person they told was Ragnarok. He had always been a part of their life one way or another, and hell, they had even known them before they had been melted down and had replaced their blood. It maybe wasn’t the brightest idea, and one that none of their new friends (that word was still a strange taste on their tongue) would have approved of, but one morning they decided that enough was enough, and didn’t take doctor Stein’s medication.

Ragnarok was quick to rise from his slumber, in a foul mood, of course. He was weakened though, beyond even his smaller form, so the tiny fists felt like nothing compared to the cuts, bruises, fractures that the demonic weapon had given them throughout their murder sprees. Crona took over rather easily, cowing the tiny being and being dry in their responses.

“You really need to shut up. Anyway, I have a problem.”

“You’re waking me up for-”

“Yes I am. Now listen to me, my feet are too big.”

“Fuck you, Crona, you know that I’ll… Ok, ok, don’t give me that look. It’s because I’m heavy and I pool at your feet more because of gravity. I don’t know man, I can pool elsewhere. Or maybe you can get me out of here, that would be pretty good too.”

“I’ll ask Stein. Thank you, Ragnarok.”

They brought their hand to their mouth and swallowed the pills, quickly following up with a glass of water to wash them down. The effect was almost immediate, with Ragnarok being so groggy and all. As soon as the tiny voice was gone and their bloodflow had returned to normal, they sighed and slumped back on their bed, tears pricking at their eyes. Thank goodness. Thank goodness it was something that could, possibly, be solved. They were ok for now, until the next detail of their new reality hit them, that is.

But one by one, they will come to terms with them, and one day, once they were all overcome one way or another, they will be happy.                                                                                                                                                                  


End file.
